


gather me, love (don't let go, now)

by KeyDog (BannedBloodOranges)



Series: It's a big galaxy, Mr Scott [3]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Fluff, Getting Older, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non Explicit Intimacy, Old Married Uhotty, Post-Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, Survivor Guilt, old married spirk, uhotty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 21:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20607683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BannedBloodOranges/pseuds/KeyDog
Summary: "Then he seeks her, standin' all bent and mortified with her hand stretchin' over her heart and she be lookin' at him, already gatherin' all the pieces of 'im and givin' them back in all the right order by her eyes alone and it takes all he has not to crumble."Scotty deals with the aftermath of his nephew's death.





	gather me, love (don't let go, now)

**Author's Note:**

> m'eudail - my darling, my dear.
> 
> Non-profit fun only. Set during and just after The Wrath of Khan.

The boys all look the same down there, so many skinny bodies and short skull haircuts, all runnin' around in the masses of fire and smoke, tonnes of children in white rubber suits flockin' like gulls on the Aberdeen shores. 

He cannae see Peter, and even with his brain firin' circuits and hydraulic and detonators, the primal part of 'im, the uncle and the backslapper and the _I'm so proud lad ye dunnae even know _points all his eyes like beacons and he catches a snatch of 'im, draggin' a small cadet through the gates closin' like the crack of doom, and that be his lad, his sister's boy, born and bred in America but he's got the red blood of a Scotsman firing through them veins, he has!

C'ptain's orders comin' through the comm, once again askin' him for a goddamn miracle and he sighs with an "aye sir" but the engineering department is comin' down in bursts of shock and radiation leakin' through like sieves and he's gonna get this ship up and runnin' even with the years takin' a slow toll on his body but never his wee brain, oh no!

He just about turns away from the comm when he hears a sigh, a short soft kiss of words.

_ Be careful, Mr Scott. _

They're separated by all the alloy and wiring and the great chrome domes and doors and corridors that make up his lady, but his ship still manages, in all her glory, to slip a small line between 'imself and his Ny.

"Aye," he whispers, just loud enough for her sensitive ears. After all this mess and madness he'll book in Peter and Ny this fine evenin' and they'll all 'ave a drink and natter and all this madness will be a bad dream.

* * *

A great breakin' sigh hails through the ship and applause breaks on the lower decks, but all Scotty can feel is the clinical stink of the gasmask stuck to the sweat around his face, itchin' all the hair on his moustache. Exhaustion is sick in his body as he rips it off, lettin' it dangle from his suit like a noose. There are groans and cryin' and goddammit it's like a war after-party in 'ere and even the burrs of his beloved machines cannot work over the moans of flesh and blood that drown out his beloved beeping and where is McCoy, sweet Mary Mother of...!

"Mr Scott." One of the new cadets, eyes all big and swollen in his wee face. "He's hurt real bad, he's asking for you..."

And he didn't see, did he, the body bein' slung up like a slaughtered pig behind the boy, feet draggin' small and useless behind 'im as two other kids haul 'im up and along. 

Peter's hair is all stuck out and dank and damp with _ blood _ and his cheek is carved an ugly side of pink like a cleaved piglet, skin all peeled up and burnt with the stain of radiation and oh god all he can see are his sister's eyes in his face, lookin' so cloudy and pained and oh _ god - _

"Let me see 'im," He shoves past the wee kid. They shrink away like kittens as his demand becomes a roar. "_Let me see 'im, goddamit!" _

* * *

The light of the turbo lift shifts over Peter's face, the flash of white and silver like heaven's kiss, throwin' the side not chewed by fire and blood and he could be all but sleepin' and he looks so much like his mother, and it be all his _ fault _and nothin' will ever change that.

He is standin' on the bridge, his wee boy in his arms and every face turns and there's a gasp, and for a selfish moment, he be thinkin' _ good. _This be the horror he is not alone in seein'. 

The C'ptain is still and pale and beginning to look so _ old _ and even Commander Spock puts his fingers together in a way he knows is a kind of Vulcan grievin' and he would be grateful but Peter be still breathin' and he canne bear their faces, no.

Then he seeks _ her, _ standin' all bent and mortified with her hand stretchin' over her heart and she be lookin' at him, already gatherin' all the pieces of 'im and givin' them back in all the right order by her eyes alone and it takes all he has not to crumble.

* * *

There be no time to grieve. A shatterin' has come upon the ship. He has not laid communications to his sister, not sent off the report in cream and gold letterin' so Starfleet can trick her into thinkin' they care about another young pound of flesh scoured alive in the bowels of his ship. But that be not the only loss, oh no. They had laid down Commander Spock in a black casket to hide the mess the radiation made of his body, and they 'ad to drag the C'ptain out of the sickbay. He doesn't wanna know but Sulu had said McCoy 'ad gone in there before the ceremony, whisperin' all these sweet nothings, tryin' to nudge some of that ol' power back into him so he could get through the service at least. Good Dr McCoy must 'ave poured some heavy potions in his blood for the C'ptain to have kept standin' the way he did.

Nobody loved the way the C'ptain loved the Commander, a pure and powerful thing to see, and just as agony to see it severed.

He's in his quarters. He cannae go down to the engineering room, not now, not even to sit in the glow and dust of his wee bairns, for it be the place where Peter was last at, and who knew all the textures of metal, his lifeblood, could be so cold and unfeelin'?

The rush of the shower is turned off. He doesn't even see he's sitting in the dark before the bathroom door opens.

There she be standin' in the light, artificial gold through her hair, standin' it all out in hollows and curls. She be naked, long legs hard from all her dancin' and the soft tilts of her breasts, and she stands there like an image from a boy's dream and here he be, weighty and slow and feelin' like a crab tryin' to walk forwards.

His lass still 'as her appetites, all healthy, and he even 'ad to creep to Dr McCoy for some helpin' aids, and he'd heard the good ol' doctor chew the C'ptain and the Vulcan Commander about their bedroom activities, so to speak, and so he'd been scared half to death but all ol' McCoy had done was push him a capsule of tiny pills and with a genial smile worthy of any southern gentlemen had added if he needed anythin' else, or 'ad trouble, just to ask.

But he dunnae want them, not tonight. He just wants her, every lovely length of her, each dimple and dent of skin she endlessly treats with cream and lotion and concealer, all the sweet creases and crinkles that had sat on 'er body like a canvas bein' slowly filled in over the years. Even if the creaky plumbing of his body won't perform no matter how he kicks at it, he 'as his fingers rough from all his tinkerin', he 'as his tongue and his kisses, and he'll take her up and beyond if she will let 'im.

They've 'ad this dance since the beginning, the two of them, from the press of her chest at the back of his command chair, to her pretty voice comin' all from all parts of the ship, and he, her devoted listener. In 'is mind, she is the voice of the Enterprise, that singing soul runnin' commands and contacts and communications through the wires actin' as veins in his beloved lady. In the early days it was a bit of a giggle, she bein' a witty beauty and him an alpha male with a bit of hot blood to spice the off shifts, and they were friends first, goddamn, before he was discoverin' that songs and sex and long dinnertime talks were makin' sanctuaries out of each other's time, rooms, bodies . The years crept on and he couldn't leave the Enterprise, couldn't leave _ her _. Where he was servin', so was she. Their godfearin' love is built into his ship, has borne witness to all the twists of their story. It's not just the metal that brings 'em back. It's memory.

The memories, oh _lord._

He's not gonna start cryin', not now, he's bitten back enough dour words to force his way through his last shifts. C'ptain couldn't even give 'im a break to yank his heart back down his throat, and he knows it be because there was no time, but he's bitter and old and his nephew's fractured face won't be goin' for a long time.

He's ashamed of his body, of his thick neck and gut pokin' out like a white ugly mass and he be all a shiverin' as she touches 'im. He be an hard-worn chap but all he wants is to shrink away, to hide, even from his m'eudail.

"Monty, love," She 'as a voice no woman should have. It's dark and warm and takes 'im all in. He's home, with her. She opens her mouth and he hears her all over the ship, and he's_ home. " _There's nobody here, dear. You can let go, now." 

She closes her arms around his head, nails feelin' where the hair is startin' to thin and he thinks of his poor C'ptain, lonely in his bare quarters made for two, and then of his sister Mary, wavin' Peter from the ship dock so proud and he chokes in the back of his throat, ugly and short and there be wet heat squeezin' from his eyes. Now there be Nyota, her hands and lips and body, pressin' down all so soft and insistent and he lets her, she easin' him back on the bed, and his body is starved of this, it's been so long and no, he not be takin' proper care of 'imself, of her, of what they 'ave and what if it had been his beloved Ny behind the glass, what _ then _...!

She sinks down on 'im and he don't need the pills, his rough ol' hands shakin' as they rest on her thighs, and she rocks him then, all strong and steady like and he tries to touch in the places she finds pleasin' but she takes his hands and kisses them instead, and he's gone, love, he's _ gone. _

* * *

There's silence after, her hair ticklin' his nose and his arms around her waist, savourin' the cushion of her.

"Nyota," He always dips her name, lettin' the vowel fall on the last letter. It be prettier that way, he be thinkin'. "You be a damn fine Communications Officer, lass."

"I would hope," she says, sardonic. "I assume you would like me to use my specialised skills?"

"Yes, if ye don't mind." He clears his throat. "I need to be talkin' to my sister face to face. Cannae have the news made by some Starfleet prig in an unfeelin' uniform."

She's all still, listenin'. 

"Ny," He cannae help but whisper. His words crack, break away from him like a ship hull wreckin' on the rocks. "Will ye be there with me?"

The silence is all a stretchin' until she finds his hand.

If God 'ad made man and woman, moulding them outta the same plod of clay, he be wishin' now he could knock on the door of creation, and plead his life to never separate each from the other. It be a biblical image, unspoilt, one that burns in his mind and in the blacksmith metal of his memory; him and Ny, lyin' so close and secret, and her, kissin' the tears from his face. 

He holds her as if to never let her go. 


End file.
